


Love the One You're With

by ruebbish



Series: Growing Pains-A Post-Canon Klance AU [2]
Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: A little bit of fluff I guess ?, Adam is still dead, Allura is still dead, Bisexual Lance (Voltron), F/M, Gay Keith (Voltron), I'm Sorry, Langst, M/M, Slow Burn (kinda?), klance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-16
Updated: 2019-02-16
Packaged: 2019-10-29 10:18:47
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,193
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17806178
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ruebbish/pseuds/ruebbish
Summary: Well, there’s a rose in a fisted gloveAnd the eagle flies with the doveAnd if you can’t be with the one you love, honeyLove the one you’re with.(Love the One You're With, Stephen Stills)The Space Gays TM gather at Hunk's house back in Samoa for a New Year's Party.Lance tries to let her go.





	Love the One You're With

**Author's Note:**

> wowow, another holiday-themed klance oneshot? who would've thought?
> 
> so another thing--it might be a /little/ past new year's, but better late than never, amirite?
> 
> look out for a possible valentine's au coming your way soon !!!!!1!1!!!1
> 
> happy new year's.
> 
> warnings: mild sexual references, mild substance abuse/drunkeness

Lance bounced up the worn sand path, palm trees blowing gently in the cool wind above his head. His eyes lit up with the reflection of the bonfire flickering in Hunk’s extensive backyard. He grinned as the sand gave way to concrete and he knocked on the frame of the screen door.

Hunk’s silhouette appeared, backlit by the yellow-tinted LED light. He grinned brightly and the door clicked open. “Everyone else is already here,” he shouted over the crappy pop music booming from the family room, “We’re trying to find the ball drop on YouTube.”

“Nice,” Lance kicked off his shoes and looked into the darkened family room, where most of the Voltron crew was gathered around Pidge, who was aggressively pounding at the remote.

“The _actual_ adults are in the kitchen.”

Lance laughed and stepped into the warm house. “Yeah, I’m not too interested. Not quite grown up yet.” Hunk giggled.

The two walked into the family room. Lance vaulted over the back of the sofa, taking a seat against the leather arm. He tucked his legs underneath him as a roar erupted from the crowd gathered around Pidge as the buffering sign blinked over the CNN Livestream of Andy Cohen and Anderson Cooper in Times Square.

“It’s the gays!” Keith cheered, taking a seat on the sofa arm next to Lance.

“Give it up for the gays!” Matt echoed. Shiro whooped.

Lance smirked up at Keith, who was perched on the arm of the sofa like a cat. “Sit on a couch, much?”

“Says you,” Keith’s eyes ran up and down Lance’s folded legs with a smirk to rival that of the latter, and Lance felt a tingle in the pit of his stomach. Over the past week, Lance had been living on that feeling of Keith. Keith on his lips, Keith in his hair, Keith in his arms, Keith, Keith, Keith.

Hunk’s mom came into the family room with an unopened bottle of champagne in one hand, balancing a dozen champagne glasses in the other. She was greeted with a grateful cheer. She smiled and winked, warning, “Just know your limits, okay?”

There was a chorus of “thank you” as Shiro reached for the bottle and corkscrew. There was a pop. Champagne fizzled, Shiro quickly filling the first glass. Soon, everyone had a glass in their hand, toasting as John Lennon’s _Imagine_ blasted across Times Square and through the TV, minutes ticking down on the other side of the world while time stood at a standstill for the paladins, taking their first sips of many that night, sharing the purgatorial sensation that happens between the old year and the new. And in that limbo between one year and the next, one love and the next, one drink and the next, Lance was happy: happy not in the sense of unbridled joy, but the happy that arrives when you come to the conclusion that—taking into account all the shitty choices you’ve made over the course of your life—you couldn’t have chosen a better place to be in, better people to be within this fleeting moment within this reality.

Lance smiled softly into his champagne.

As the night went on, Lance found himself smiling wider and wider as he slowly drained the dainty glass. The edges of the room blurred like they were underwater, reminding him of a certain waterlogged planet with certain gorgeous mermaids. Lance looked around the room and his friends had collapsed onto the nearest person like dominoes. His arm wrapped itself around Keith’s waist, pulling the latter off the arm of the sofa and very nearly onto Lance’s lap. Keith giggled and took a sip of his champagne. Lance turned back to the flashing TV to hide his reddening face.

The crowd hushed as the screen flashed between the performance of _Imagine_ and the famed ball perched on the Empire State Building. The first lyrics crackled through the speaker and Lance began to hum along with a smile on his face. _Imagine_ was the first ever song he remembered listening to. His mamá had put the vinyl copy on the record player and danced with him, gently holding his tiny hands and letting him step on her feet. It held the top spot for his favorite song for his whole life after that.

He fell into tempo with Keith and Hunk on either side of him, swaying and singing along. “Imagine all the people...living for today-ay...a-a-ay.” Lance attempted a Mariah Carey-style run and the room erupted into giggles. Lance grinned toothily up at Keith, who shook his head. “You’re ridiculous,” Keith said fondly, smiling as he took a sip of his champagne.

Lance remembered watching his papá and mamá dance to this song the night of their twentieth anniversary. He couldn’t sleep that night and had snuck downstairs to watch late-night telenovelas that aired way past his bedtime. He’d found his parents swaying side-to-side, barefoot on the white tile, backlit by the full moon and the refrigerator light. The song played on that old record player, disc spinning and spinning. He’d smiled and tiptoed back upstairs.

Keith leaned his head onto Lance’s shoulder. Lance could feel his chest vibrating under Keith’s weight. Lance traced zig-zags just under Keith’s shirt, out of sight of the others. Keith let out a shaky breath.

After seeing his parents dancing like that, so happy, so in love, the song became a staple in the playlists he put together for daydreaming about whatever crush he’d had at the moment and so, naturally, he played it on repeat ever since Allura had fallen into his arms. In his eyes, the song was practically the soundtrack to their would-be relationship--the opposite of a call-to-arms, calling for peace and unity. At the very end of their first date, Lance remembered propping the photo they took in front of the tree up beside the hand-me-down record player before playing the song for Allura. He pulled her onto her feet and slow-danced with her from the beginning to the end. “So,” Allura’s face was awfully close to Lance’s, “Do you like it?”

Allura laughed lightly. “I love it, Lance.” She smiled, glancing down at his lips. “I love _you._ ”

Oh, how long he’d waited to hear those words. Now, they just made his marks burn.

He gulped the last of his champagne, hoping to wash Allura to the back of his mind, where all thoughts of her had taken permanent residence. The bubbled burned as they slid down his throat, drowning that sickish feeling behind his ribs.

The audience in Times Square began to chant the seconds ‘til the new year. Keith murmured in Lance’s ear, “Are you okay? You look upset.”

Lance unfurrowed his brow and relaxed his face. “I’m fine.” He smiled, just short of kissing Keith on the forehead. “Just thinking.”

“That’s never good.” Keith’s eyes crinkled to show he was joking.

Lance shook his head. The ball reached the base of the spire with an eruption of confetti and cheers from Times Square. The partygoers hugged each other and Lance squeezed Keith’s waist a little tighter.

Champagne glasses were refilled, one by one, and the night rolled on. The hours ticked by, nine, ten, eleven p.m., and Lance lost track of where the edges of the room were and never had the chance to finish off a glass. The bottle got lighter and lighter each time it was lifted, and the moon climbed into view through the skylight. More than once, Romelle would call Lance’s name like Allura used to, or someone would animatedly recount a silly memory of their time piloting the Lions, and Lance would take another swig, wishing to drown out Allura’s last words with the fizzle of the champagne.

_Stand By Me_ rumbled to life from Pidge’s speaker, and suddenly everyone was on their feet, hands reaching for a companion. Keith and Lance found themselves partnered. Without a second thought, Lance laced his and Keith’s fingers together and stepped side to side, in sync with the swelling trumpet.

Lance’s gaze swept around the room. Hunk crushed Pidge’s small hands in his, Pidge’s feet on top of Hunk’s. Shiro and Matt’s enlaced hands flailed around, feet kicking around the carpet, as Curtis watched from the loveseat, laughing, “No, no, I don’t dance.” Coran and Romelle stumbled along, following the others confusedly but earnestly. A chorus rose from the room, “Oh darlin’, _darlin’_ , sta-a-and by me...wo-oah sta-a-and by me...oh stand...stand by me. Stand by me.”

Lance’s eyes found Keith’s, and he could feel blood rush to his ears. “You’re not bad at dancing,” Keith said.

“That’s what happens when your parents are three-time consecutive champions of the regional ballroom dancing competition for high schoolers.”

Keith laughed, and something warmed up in Lance’s chest.

“I thought you’d be worse, too,” Lance said.

Keith pouted and Lance nearly had an aneurysm. “I’m offended. I grew up in the South, do you think I wouldn’t know how to dance?”

Lance giggled. “Those two things are literally completely unrelated.”

“My dad was a firefighter. We had _tons_ of dances, fundraisers for the fire department.”

“I bet the girls were all over you, huh.”

“Kinda,” Keith laughed. “I mean, l got asked to dance a lot, I guess. Never really thought about it, though.”

“‘Cause you’re a snack.”

Keith laughed again, unfazed by the compliment.

_Stand By Me_ faded out, replaced by the booming intro to some obscure, snare-heavy pop song. The dancers collapsed back into their seats.

Lance studied his champagne glass, having emptied it for something like the sixth time, and set it on the coffee table shakily. He decided he’d probably want to remember midnight.

Even though he’d set down his drink, Lance’s smile still grew. Keith melted into him and they soon they were stitched together by their sides. Time blurred by Lance’s eyes, making him dizzy. He tried to keep Allura in the back of his mind without picking up his drink again. But no matter how loud he sang, how hard he laughed, it didn’t keep the Altean marks from singeing his skin.

The clock crept closer to twelve, and the taste of bile and regret crept up Lance’s throat. At 11:58, Lance excused himself with a bad joke he wouldn’t remember the next day and dashed out the back door, taking the long way around to avoid the judging looks the adults would shoot his way and the awkward minute-long lectures about responsibility. The suction of the screen door popped open. Lance let the warm rain flood his lungs and he felt better.

Allura never really left him. It had been more than a year, and since Blue came back empty, Lance couldn’t stop seeing her everywhere. At first, it hurt like _hell_. He’d kept himself in a place with no trace of Voltron and surrounded himself with family that didn’t have those godforsaken marks that he saw every time he closed his eyes. Then something flipped. She was everywhere again, but not in a bad way. (At this point, if he believed in ghosts, he’d have been convinced she had come for an otherworldly visit.) He’d figured that if he couldn’t have her alive, then the next best thing would be to remember her. He’d figured that he’d rather be reminded of her than have her gone for good.

At the one-year reunion, the one-year anniversary of her death, he finally saw the other Paladins again. And after dinner, it wasn’t Coran who accompanied his journey to Allura’s statue. It wasn’t Hunk or Pidge or Shiro. It was Keith. Keith and his kind words and his fanged grin and his stupid, stupid mullet. Keith who said that he understood and that he would help and that if you ever need anything, here’s his number and his work schedule and his vacation days. Lance never called but punched in the digits at least once a month just to see Keith’s smiling icon pop up, and he felt less alone. He would always smile back, enduring Veronica’s smartass comments. And when he finally saw it, he cursed himself for not seeing it sooner.

_“You’re allowed to love again, Lance.”_ Veronica had said.

Allura would want him to be happy, he figured. She’d understand.

The fire crackled in the drizzling rain. Lance heard Keith’s bare feet crunching in the soft grass. He turned and found Keith’s eyes lit in the fizzling fire.

Lance smiled and brought his hand to Keith’s cheek, tucking a soaked lock of hair behind his ear. John Lennon’s _Imagine_ and a chant of _“Five, four, three…”_ swelled from the small house. Keith rested his arms on Lance’s tall shoulders and Lance pulled Keith in. Without another word, their wet lips came together as muffled cheers erupted from the house. Lance smiled into the kiss and, for the briefest of moments, forgot about the marks Allura left behind.

_Well, there’s a rose in a fisted glove_

_And the eagle flies with the dove_

_And if you can’t be with the one you love, honey_

_Love the one you’re with._

**Author's Note:**

> hope you enjoyed it!
> 
> tumblr: ruebbish
> 
> please leave kudos !
> 
> **remember kids, don't do alcoholism ! champagne won't solve your problems ! a cute mullet-head won't kiss you if you get drunk !**


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